Vintage Vanquish (boyxboy)

[14] Crazy.

"You're doing it again."

Felix looked away from the trees surrounding Eustache's house, setting his eyes on Otilia. They were in the gazebo since Otilia decided to take the conversation outside, away from any wondering ear. The lantern placed on a baluster was lit because it was slowly getting dark, and it casted a clear aura around the girl.

"What, precisely?"

"Entering your head like that. You're dangerously dreamy for a doctor-to-be."

Felix puffed air through his nose, too distracted by the reason they were out there in the first place. He was supposed to conjure some sort of explanation regarding the explanation he was trying to give Mary. That explanation itself had required throughout thinking, let alone explaining it!

He blinked rapidly and sighed. "Where did you get that ring from?"

Shamelessly delaying matters was always an option.

Otilia smiled toothlessly and extended her arm, slim fingers parting like the web of a spider in the wind. As if on clue, the ring in question glinted, catching Fall's fiery sunset light just at the right angle.

"Pascalopol." she announced. Then, her pale arm settled over the beige dress graciously. Her outfit was simple compared to what she usually wore: the light, straight material reached halfway down her calves, tied tightly around her petite waist with a big brown bow at the back.

Felix let his eyes linger on the ring as though he was truly looking at it. In fact, he was listening curiously to the neighbor gate open.

"Right. Pascalopol."

It wasn't like that poker night when he watched Otilia sit on Pascalopol's armrest, peeking at his cards. His heart didn't ache, his fingers didn't clench. In fact, he was barely even registering their conversation, because he could hear steps beyond the fence. They passed the house and were approaching Vancouver's shed.

"Felix, don't be wearing such a sad expression." Otilia mewled, pressing a thumb between his eyebrows to try and pry them up. "It fits your features too well..." her finger traced the outer corner of his eye, a little lower than the inner, and then his long nose.

He knew what she meant. Every time he posed for a drawn portrait, the artist chose black and white, even if he was smiling. Yet another bizarre trait from his father, his nostalgic face.

"Does it." he murmured, ears struggling to pick up the words between roars of raspy laughter. Vancouver and Weissmann, a handful of meters away from the fence separating the yards.

"Are you possibly courting me!" Weissmann yelped.

"Why, I do like my ladies gentle and, if possible, men." Vancouver said with that raspy voice he had when smoking. "Yes. I like my ladies gentlemen."

Laughter.

Why was it only then that Felix's heart started aching and his fingers clenching into fists? Was it a delayed reaction to the sight of Otilia's ring? Most certainly not, he wasn't deep enough in denial to let himself believe that.

Jealousy. Of Weissmann.

And then it all came crumbling down.

He was sick tired of the constant inner battle. Sick and tired of all the abrupt brakes he put to his curious thoughts. The way repetitively stopping a car kills the motor at some point, his brain got the same consequence.